


Wait, I Had Something For This

by gertie_flirty



Category: Archer - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 07:18:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2804192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gertie_flirty/pseuds/gertie_flirty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A catastrophe occurs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wait, I Had Something For This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kouredios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kouredios/gifts).



> This story takes place sometime in the first half of season five. Warnings for offensive, Archer-type humor.

“Well, look at the bright side,” said Pam. “At least we have a ton of cocaine left.”

“No we don’t,” replied Malory, sighing. “We didn’t even have a ton to begin with.”

“We had a tonne,” added Cyril. “Metric.”

“I know that!” said Pam. “I meant figuratively.”

“Speaking of figures,” said Lana, placing the pregnancy magazine she had been reading beside her on the couch. “Where do you figure Archer is?”

“W-What?” snickered Pam. “’Speaking of figures?’”

“It was a segue,” replied Lana.

“That’s not a segue. This is a segway!” Into the Tunt mansion’s main room rode Ray, riding a surprisingly sparkly Segway.

“What the hell is that?” asked Malory.

“It’s the future of human motion. Krieger had to repair a couple of parts in my robot legs and I didn’t want to go back to the chair again. Thusforthly, I am riding the two-wheeled innovation you see before you.”

Ray grinned widely at Malory, who simply glared back in silence. After a heavy sigh and along drink of her martini, she turned to Lana. “Speaking of segues—”

“Ha!” laughed Pam.

“We need to change the subject to finding a buyer for this not-nearly-a-ton of cocaine before Pam eats it all.”

“Well our last three—or four? Has it been four? Attempts have ended with us being shot at, almost beheaded, no money and even less cocaine.”

“Do I detect doubt in your voice? Perhaps if I wasn’t surrounded by incompetents, at least one of those missions would have succeeded.”

“They’re not missions, Malory. We’re not agents anymore.”

“Speaking of incompetent agents—”

Pam opened her mouth to laugh again, but Malory stared her down. “Speaking of incompetent agents, where exactly is Sterling?”

No one said anything and nothing happened.

“Huh, that’s weird,” said Lana. “He usually has pretty good timing to come in that sort of opening. Maybe he’s actually—”

“Babou has escaped!” Archer burst into the room, arms above his head. “And by the way, Lana, I meant to say ‘said Ripley to the android bishop.’”

“How does that even apply?”

“The come in that sort of opening thing. Maybe you’re right about my timing today.”

“What about Babou?” asked Lana.

“Oh, right. He escaped!” Archer threw his arms wide and wiggled his fingers in the air mysteriously.

“How do you know he escaped and isn’t in an auxiliary powder room somewhere?”

“Because Lana——”

_Whrrrrrr._

The sound of the engine on Ray’s Segway interrupted them as he slowly wheeled over to join their conversation.

“Because, Lana,” Archer repeated. “We were playing.”

“Playing? With what?”

 

——————————————————

 

“Fetch!”

Twenty minutes earlier, Archer had gently tossed a Fabrege egg in the ocelot’s direction. It landed on an opulent rug, bounced once, then up and crashed through one of the floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall. Babou, following the egg’s arc, bounced up and out the window as well.

Archer ran over and leaned through the broken glass. He watched as the ocelot leapt from car to car and then run off in the direction of Central Park. “This could end up being a catastrophe.”

—————————————

“Get it Lana?”

Lana didn’t reply. She simply looked back at Archer, the corners of her mouth drawn deep into a frown.

“Lana, get it?”

No answer.

“Lana? It was a cat-tastrophe?”

Lana turned to Malory. “So do you—”

“A cat-tastrophe, Lana!”

“Do you have any leads on a buyer?”

“No,” replied Malory. She took a sip of her drink. No one said anything else.

“Then I guess,” sighed Lana. “I have to take care of this ‘wild ocelot on the loose in downtown Manhattan’ thing.”

Archer opened and closed his fingers, whispering in a high pitch, “Awesome.”

————————————————-

“Archer, have you got eyes on the ocelot?” Lana tapped her headset as she crouched behind a tree in Central Park. She hoisted up her large, high powered tranquilizer rifle and peered through the scope.

“No, all I see is a bunch of joggers. And a family on a picnic. Aw, look, they have a baby! Lana, when you have your baby can we go on a picnic?” Archer’s voice crackled over the radio.

“What?”

“Wait, they brought steak on their picnic. Who brings steak to a picnic? You’re supposed to bring sandwiches and potato salad.”

“Archer, have you ever been on a picnic?”

“No, Lana, but I’ve seen cartoons. The ants get into the potato salad!”

“You hate ants.”

“I do,” Archer chuckled. “I do hate ants.”

“Archer! We’re supposed to be looking for Babou.”

“I am! I just . . . Hmmm.”

“What?”

“That steak gives me an idea.”

——————————————————

“This was your big idea?” Malory spread her arms wide in frustration. In the grand main room of Tunt manor sat a plethora of homeless people of various races and genders.

“Hey,” said Pam. “I thought if the ocelot liked cocaine half as much as I do, then it would definitely be easy to lure back to the manor!”

“So you left a trail of pure cocaine on the ground from here to Central Park? Were you high when you thought of this?”

“Well,” said Pam. “Yeah.”

“And now we have a pack of dirty hobos in here setting up some sort of shanty town!”

“I don’t think they’re hobos if they’re not on a train,” offered Cyril. “If they’re just regular homeless I think you call them bums.”

“No,” said Pam. “Bums are only the ones who ask for money.”

“They all ask for money,” said Malory.

“These are just vagrants,” continued Pam.

The homeless people, for what it was worth, didn’t seem to mind what anyone called them. They were just glad to be warm. The group continued to pitch tents and mill aimlessly about the room, eyeing anything that was light enough to steal.

“Cyril! I need your help!” Archer burst into the room, Ray wheeling after him with a light whrrrrr.

“Really?” Cyril brightened. “You need my help?”

“Yeah. I figured we need bait to lure Babou back to the house.”

“That was my idea!” chimed in Pam.

“So I thought we would stuff a bunch of steak in your pants and have you lead him on a chase back here.”

“What? No! I’m not shoving a bunch of meat down my pants!”

“Did I ever mentioned how thoroughly bummed I am that we don’t have ‘phrasing’ in our repertoire anymore?” asked Archer.

“Steak is way better bait than cocaine,” said Pam.

“Agreed,” said Archer. “So Cyril! Come on!”

“No!” repeated Cyril. “Why not have Ray do it? He can’t feel anything down there anyway.”

“That is true,” said Archer, turning towards Ray.

“Oh, no,” Ray whrrrred his Segway in reverse, not realizing he was backing into a wall. The others slowly advanced on him. “No way. I’m not having my good and plenties ripped off by a malnourished—”

_Whrrrrr_

“Crepuscular--”

_Whrrrrr_

“Poorly housetrained—”

_Whrr_

“Oops. My battery died.”

————————————

Five minutes later, Ray was tied to his wheelchair with twenty pounds of chuck round stuffed into his slacks and left abandoned in Central Park. He sighed heavily to himself. “Every damn time.”

———————————

 

“And now,” said Archer from the relative safety of the homeless shelter that was once the Tunt drawing room. “We wait.”

He tapped on a monitor that was from a camera they had taped to Ray’s chest.

“But if he’s tied to the chair, how is he gonna get back?” asked Pam.

“State of the art remote control,” Archer held up a large device covered with various knobs and switches.

“Ooh, fancy.”

“No need for that!” This was Lana, coming in and smiling, her rifle slung over one shoulder. She cradled her pregnant stomach with one hand. “Babou is safe and returned.”

She walked over to the monitor and turned the dial. The feed switched to an internal camera in one of the Tunt bedrooms where Babou was chewing happily on an antique table.

“Wow, Lana, how did you do that?”

Lana smiled mysteriously.

——————

Shortly after Archer had mentioned he had an idea, his radio cut out.

“Archer? Archer!” Lana yelled, to no answer. She peered down the scope of her rifle looking for Archer but noticed something on a faraway tree. Keeping low to the ground, she made her way across the thicket and noticed distinct claw marks scratched into the bark. Following a trail of crumpled leaves and broken sticks, she came across a pile of fresh ocelot droppings.

———

“Gross!” said Pam.

“Hush,” said Cyril.

———

Another two hundred feet and she heard a crunch. Taking cover behind thick brush, she peered out and saw Babou the ocelot crouched low in the grass, ready to pounce on a set of twins playing jump rope. Just as the great cat crouched back on its hindquarters, Lana lifted her tranq rifle, fired, and watched him go limp.

———

“After that,” said Lana to the group of people gathered around listening to her story. “I just had to pick him up and take him back to the house. Easy peasy.”

“Wow,” said Pam. “Looks like you really avoided a cat-tastrophe.”

“I made that same joke earlier,” complained Archer.

This was the moment Cherlene came in from another side door leading off into another ancillary parlor room.

“Eww,” said Cherlene. “What are all these filthy tramps doing in my mansion? They might give me their poor.”

“Tramps! That’s the word!” said Pam.

“I think tramp is like hobo,” said Cyril. “It also implies a means of travel.”

As they argued, Archer turned to Lana. “Thank you for finding Babou.”

“All in a day’s work.”

“No, I really mean it. That was awesome.”

“I believe you. I know how fond you are of animals.”

They smiled quietly at each other for a while, as Pam was challenged to a street fight by one of the homeless.

“You know,” said Archer. “I feel like we’re forgetting something.”

“Eh,” shrugged Lana. “It probably wasn’t important.”

 

——————————————

 

Somewhere, in the dark, in the middle of the night at Central Park, a lone voice cried out, “Hello?”

Ray, still tied to his wheelchair with raw meat in his pants, had heard a sound. As he turned his head, he realized it was growling. From a pack of wild dogs. Starving, wild dogs.

“Aw,” he said. “Crap.”


End file.
